Being Hagrid's Daughter
by urmyfavorite
Summary: You are a hairy freak and there is nothing you can do about it.


**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harry Potter. Nup-sir. Also, I don't own the reference to name is Trogdoretta, and you are a first-year in Hogwarts. You are actually Hagrid's illegitimate love child, conceived when your father became extremely pissed, mistook a hag for a unicorn, and became so overwhelmed with passion that he never noticed the difference. Your mother, being the ugly hag that she was, was grateful to get any attention whatsoever, and so went along quite willingly with his drunken exploit. You have only seen your father several times throughout your life, and are hoping that beginning school will better your relationship.

"Good-bye mum!"

"Good-bye, Troggy, dear! Have a good time in school! Tell your father that if he ever wishes to see me again, I'm ready and waiting!' You sigh as you pull away from the station, embarrassed that all your (future) friends heard what she said about your dad. Already, students were pointing your way and whispering, and you feel the cold, engulfing onset of long-term depression setting in. It's tough to be 11 years old, 6"9, and flat as a board. And hairy. Like monkey. You take a seat in an (thankfully) empty compartment, wondering where on earth everybody is. Suddenly, a rather ugly little boy comes barging into your compartment.

"Hello! Colin Creevey! What's your name? Haven't seen you before, are you a first year? I'm a sixth year! You wouldn't guess, would you, judging by my hyperactivity and immaturity and annoying qualities! But I'll give you a secret though. Ritalin. Oh, and Aderol. Don't forget Aderol. I can get you some Aderol for real cheap. Want some? Huh? Huh? Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhh?" Then suddenly, the boy fell to the ground, quaking and foaming at the mouth.

"Don't worry about him," said another smaller boy who had just walked in. "It happens a lot. He'll be all right in a bit. Denis Creevey, in case you were wondering."

"Trog-Trog-Trogdoretta." you stammer stupidly, because you are stupid. "Trogdoretta Hagrid. I'm a first-year."

"Hagrid? Like Hagrid Hagrid?"

"Hagrid Hagrid? My dad is dad, and is Hagrid. Is dad Hagrid Hagrid Hagrid?"

"Must be. I can see the family resemblance! Neat!" You are not entirely certain how to feel about this last comment, so decide to ignore it. Then, two older teens burst into the room as if they own the place. Jerks. One is almost as tall as you, with a head like a carrot, and the other with a lot of bushy brown hair. They look at you in shock before the carrot one says

"What on earth are you doing here? This is our compartment, now bugger off!" The bushy one seems to agree.

"My-my-my name is Trogdoretta. What's yours?" You seem to think this will help.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley. Now leave." Before you get the chance to scuttle away, Denis decides to interject.

"Hey, aren't you two supposed to be in the prefect's car? For like an hour?"

"No, we were removed from prefectness for shagging like mad monkeys in the..."

"RON! Don't!"

"Well, everyone already knows. I mean, it's been obvious for like five books now, and probably in the sixth too, that we are going to hook up, and everyone in this story already knows..."

"No, I mean the M word!" "What on earth are you talking about, you mad girl?"

" I'm not mad, you're mad! Maddy McMadMad!"

"Gd, you turn me on when you talk like that..."

"Ron, not here! No, I was telling you not to say monkey because she is so hairy that saying monkey might remind her of her freakish hairiness and upset her, and upsetting her could end up quite literally upsetting the train!" They have clearly become more focused on the argument at hand than any feelings you might have in you somewhere. But it's ok, you are used to this by now.

"Oh. You are right love. Let me make it up to you." They then scamper off, giggling, to the closest lavatory. Ick. Whatever. As you push the door shut, and squeeze yourself into a sitting position, the compartment door opens again, and a boy with inky black hair, bright green eyes, glasses, and a lightening-shaped scar. It's Harry Potter. Good job! You figured it out! Your heart instantly melts to the floor. In fact, you are so in love that the next paragraph will be written entirely in iambic pentameter.

The Boy Who Lived had just entered the room,

he looked up at you like you were a louse.

He said "You're ugly, and you look like doom."

But still you wanted him to be your spouse.

"Have you seen two teens shagging wildly?

They'd better be done, for it's time for tea."

"They went that way, my love," you say to him

"But they don't matter, we should stay in here."

"What's wrong with you that you're so very dim?

Your looks could turn Don Juan into a queer.

You don't even look like a real person.

You are too tall and ugly." "You're no fun!"

Ok, that's enough iambic pentameter for this story, kids. So, after Harry had insulted you viciously, and left, tripping over Colin on his way out, you decide to change into your school clothes. Secretly, you are hoping someone will want to peek at you changing. This doesn't happen.

"Oh, we'd better be going!" says Denis, in a very high-pitched voice, dragging his brother's inert body out of the room with him, clearly not wanting him to wake up to a naked you. Too bad.

Fast forward

You step off of the train, looking for your dad. You hear his voice calling the First Years over to him, and the way he says it makes you hopeful, like he somehow knows you are amongst the First Years whom he will be caring for and protecting for the next several minutes. You stand still for a moment, taking in and enjoying these few moments of precious inner calm, and thinking foreword to the joyous times you and your father will surely share. Suddenly, your peace is broken when seven or eight of your classmates push you into a boat, because you were holding up the line. As your boat magically propels itself through the water, you think you catch a wink from your dad, and you wave at him.

"Ew! I think they are related!" you catch from the whispered conversations of the girls sitting across from you.

"He's my daddy!" you tell them proudly. "And we are going to get to know each other and have birthdays, and bond, because we never got to before because he says looking at my mom makes him throw up."

"Oh my Gd!" says one of them, and the rest of their conversation progresses to irritating giggles. Realizing you just screwed up another chance of having a friend, you sulk in your boat until you reach the shore.


End file.
